


Free-Fall

by wasteland



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Violence, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6714022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasteland/pseuds/wasteland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve Rogers meets Bucky Barnes, an acrobatic street performer, he never imagined that he'd be anything more than a guy he sometimes watches jumping off ladders and juggling knives. That is until he sees him again in a far less pleasant situation. With no one else to help him, it seems that the task falls to Steve. Bucky Barnes is in a free-fall and Steve's the only one who can catch him, whether he's ready for it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Performance

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Civil War yesterday and then saw a street-performer who looked kind of like Bucky and now we're here.
> 
> Warnings and characters will change as the story continues but Stucky will be the only ship, you can rely on that.

If there was one thing Steve had very quickly learnt about London, it was that there was always groups of people gathered around one interesting spectacle or another. Usually he walked straight by them, sparing only the briefest of glances before he carried on his way to the tube station or to work or to home or whatever it was he was trying to do which didn’t involve loitering around on the street. Sometimes groups were harder to pass than other, huge swells of people blocking his way, not a single person moving lest they lose the spot that they had claimed for their own. This group though was an easy one. Everything about it made it easy to ignore and bypass: the location (in the middle of Covent Garden’s spacious square), the size (only a smattering of people were gathered round), the volume (there was no obnoxious music blaring through a large speaker). There was one thing which had him stopping in his tracks though and that was the performer.

“Is everyone having fun today?”

Steve didn’t look round when an amplified voice called out nor did he look round at the small cheer which rippled through the small audience.

“Oh come on, I think we can do better than that. What, do I have to work for your enthusiasm now?”  
Steve didn’t see what the man did then, still intending to carry on with his evening, but whatever it was drew a much louder cheer. 

“Thanks guys. Knew I could rely on you!” 

Even as Steve carried on walking, more people began to join the crowd, stepping in front of him to find a place and forcing him to move around them. Honestly, he would have thought that being as big as he was would be a good enough deterrent to stop people half his size from getting in the way but, alas, not. It seemed that in London everyone was fair game for inconveniencing. 

“Oh, it’s you again! Come to check me out again?” There was a brief pause before a throaty laugh could be heard over the amplifier. “Don’t be like that, darling. And he’s gone. Oh well, you’ll all keep me company, right?” Another cheer went up from the crowd. “Now, who’s ready for me to show you a few warm up tricks?” More cheering: they were already eating out the palm of his hand. “I think a simple flip would be a good start. Get the old knees limbered up. Does one forward and one back sound all right?” 

It was that which finally had Steve pausing to look over. When he did he immediately wished he’d done so earlier. In the centre of the crowd was a man who looked to be only a little shorter than himself. The red basketball vest he wore, with the words “Barnes 01” printed on the front of it, showed off well-muscled arms. Or, rather, it showed off _one_ well-muscled arm. The other, while matching its partner in size and shape appeared to be made entirely of metal. On the bicep of the man’s metal arm was a red star, the exact same red as the vest he wore and Steve couldn’t help but wonder if it was a coincidence or not. Between the man’s physique, the messy bun his dark hair was pulled into and the fact that his face was far from being difficult on the eyes, it was hardly surprising that such a crowd had gathered. 

And, just like that, Steve was one of them.

As promised, the man turned to the side, raising both arms dramatically into the air before he sprung forward. His knees tucked upwards and his body flipped mid-air with surprising agility for someone who couldn’t be that far off 6ft tall. The forward flip was perfectly executed and the man shot a winning smile towards the crowd before lifting his arms again and immediately doing the same thing in reverse. He jumped several feet into the air and rotated his body with an easy which was surprising for a man as large as he was.

When he stuck the second flip, the crowd began to clap and cheer again. This time Steve joined in.

“Next stop, the arms. Can you guys keep a secret?” The man paused while a few people cheered and a few others shouted yes. “I kind of cheat on this bit. You see, my legs are all me. But my arms? Well, this thing does most of the work.” His real arm moved to pat the metal one almost fondly. “Still, please cheer as though I’m not cheating, all right?” 

Leaning down, he pressed both hands against the ground and kicked up his legs, smoothly moving into a handstand.

“This is the cheating bit,” he said before tucking his real arm behind his back, leaving his entire weight supported by his metal arm. If that wasn’t impressive enough, he proceeded to lower himself down towards the ground until his head was almost brushing it, only to push himself back up and repeat the action. All Steve could do was stare. He was a fit man, going above and beyond the necessary levels for his job at the Metropolitan Police, but he was almost certain he wouldn’t be able to do a one handed push up while holding himself up in a handstand. He wouldn’t fancy even trying it. 

Everyone cheered when the man put his other hand back on the floor again though he didn’t come out of the handstand position. Instead, he now tucked his metal arm behind his back and began to do the exact same thing on his other arm.

“Hey, what do you know,” he began, the amusement evident in his voice. “Looks like I wasn’t cheating after all.” Just as gracefully as he had gotten up into the handstand, the man came down out of it and straightened up before taking an overly theatrical bow. “Thank you, thank you,” he said over the noise of cheering and clapping. “Let’s get on with the show!”

If the warm up tricks had been impressive then the show was something else entirely. Like everyone around him, Steve stood utterly transfixed as he watched the man complete what could only be described as a truly amazing show. It involved juggling knives, leap frogging over a fully grown man in order to land on a rung of a ladder, climbing up said ladder and standing on top of it with only his weight and a rubber stopper on each of the two narrow legs balancing it. The final trick saw a woman from the crowd passing up two small wooden blocks and being handed the rubber stoppers which had been taken out of the top two ladder legs. The wooden blocks were fitted into the holes the stoppers had been in, leaving a small platform. Steve had a feeling that he knew where this was going.

“I’m afraid I’m running out of time for today. You have been a wonderful audience though. If I can pull off this last trick it would be so great if you could come and pop a couple of quid in my hat or even just come and say hi. Although, not going to lie, I might appreciate the money more.” The crowd laughed at that and Steve couldn’t help but marvel at how utterly relaxed the man looked while stood fifteen feet in the air on top a ladder which, as far as physics went, he was sure should be entirely impossible. He had the crowd right where he wanted them and the easy grin which had curved to his lips showed that he knew it. It was almost as entertaining to see as all the flips and stunts were.

“The only way I can do this trick is if you guys clap while I’m doing it. Think you can do that for me?” Lifting his hands high in the air, he began to clap them together, a dull thumping noise sounding out rather than the usual clapping sound as his flesh and his metal hand collided. The audience soon caught on and began clapping in time, Steve included. While they did, the man bent down and pressed his hands against the wooden blocks and slowly, very slowly, lifted his feet off the ladder until he was upside down and entirely vertical. Just when Steve thought that he had to be finished, that there was nothing which could top this, the man once again tucked his metal arm behind his back and began to lower himself down before extending upwards again. The muscles on his arm strained and stood out and Steve was embarrassed to admit that it was the large bicep and well defined shoulders that his attention kept being drawn to rather than the trick itself.

The man took his metal arm back from behind his back and pressed his palm against the wooden platform again. Steve assumed that he was going to lower himself back down onto the ladder and climb down. Anything else would practically be suicide. Fifteen foot up in the air with nothing but hard concrete below him, climbing back down the ladder was the obvious choice. It was the only choice and that was why Steve’s heart leapt into his mouth at what happened next.

The ladder began to fall forward. Time seemed to slow almost to a stop as it fell, the man still holding himself up in a handstand. A startled cry rose up from the crowd. Before he had time to think about what he was doing, convinced he was about the watch the man become a smear on the floor, Steve darted forward. Pushing through the crowd, he ran out into the clear space around the ladder and grabbed it, pressing all his weight forward and onto his foot which was out in front of him as he forced it back upright. With the now entirely off-balance weight of the man dragging it down, it was easier said than done. His arms and back strained as he pushed it back upright, suddenly jerking forward and almost falling when the weight which had been providing the resistance vanished.

The man, the man who Steve thought was about to die, who he thought he was saving, sprung elegantly from the ladder, flipping mid-air and landing heavily on the floor, the force of his descent causing him to drop down into a crouching position. It was only his metal hand touching the floor to steady himself which gave away the fact that he hadn’t stuck the landing as well as he’d hoped. Straightening up, his bright blue eyes widened as he looked at Steve, a look of complete shock crossing his face.

It vanished as quickly as it came and he stepped forward, pushing the ladder out of Steve’s hands and letting it clatter to the floor behind them. Grabbing Steve’s hand in his metal one, he turned to face the crowd, giving an entirely natural sounding laugh.

“My knight in shining armour, everyone!” 

A cheer erupted around them and Steve felt his cheeks begin to heat up as he realised that everyone was looking at them. Looking at _him_. He was so embarrassed that he didn’t think to resist when the man lifted their arms into the air before swinging them down, pulling him down into a bow in the process.

“You have been wonderful and I have been Bucky Barnes! You can find me in all the usual social media places! If you have a few spare pounds that would be appreciated! Thank you!”

The man let go of Steve’s hand and turned away, striding over to where his things were and picking up a hat. Steve stood motionless as he watched people go up one by one and drop some money in his hat, offering their thanks and their compliments. He felt like he should go and say something but he couldn’t for the life of him think of what. The look of shock on the man’s face when he’d flipped from the ladder had been obvious, at least to him who was close enough to see it, but he didn’t know whether it was shock at the fact the trick had gone wrong or at the fact that only one person had tried to help him.

He was still stood wondering what to say when the last of the crowd had disappeared. Suddenly the man, Bucky, was in front of him.

“You’re not from round here, are you?” With the headset he’d been wearing now packed away, the conversation was between just the two of them. Bucky had an American accent, not entirely dissimilar to his own, though Steve knew that wasn’t what he meant. After all, he hadn’t said anything yet.

“How did you know?”

Bucky smiled. “When people are doing a street performance, you generally don’t run in and interfere. It’s considered kind of rude. And dangerous.” Despite the words, which could have easily been chastising, he continued to wear that easy smile.

“But you were falling! I wasn’t going to just—” Steve watched as Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. Finally the penny dropped. “You weren’t falling.”

“Nope.”

“You were going to jump off like you did anyway.”

“Yep.”

“Oh god.” Steve rubbed one hand over his face, silently wishing the ground would open him up and swallow him whole. “God, I’m so sorry! I could have really hurt you!”

“It’s a good job I’m just so awesome then, isn’t it?” Shaking his head, Bucky waved the hat he was still carrying at Steve, the coins inside jingling against each other. “I think you owe me some money though for nearly killing me.”

“Yeah, god, yeah of course.” Reaching into his pocket, Steve pulled out a couple of £20 notes and dropped them into the hat.

Looking down, Bucky’s eyes widened. “Dude, I was thinking more like a few pounds. You don’t have to give me all that.”

“No, I really do. Besides, you deserve it. I could never do anything of that stuff.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Bucky reached out and patted Steve’s arm, much like he’d done to his own metal arm in the show. “You’ve certainly got the build for it.”

Steve pretended he couldn’t feel his cheeks heating up again. “I can barely do a normal handstand, let alone one handed on top of a ladder.”

“Not with that attitude you can’t. But seriously, thanks for the money. That’s crazy generous of you.” Turning, he walked back to his belongings. He crouched down and flicked a small switch on the ladder which allowed it to collapse in on itself until it was small enough to carry around. Chucking the knives and other props into a large backpack, Steve watched as Bucky emptied the money into a small metal container, fastening it shut before throwing that into the backpack as well, along with the hat. He hoisted it up onto his shoulders and clipped the fastening across his chest, picking up the now collapsed ladder in one hand and the handle of the amplifier in the other. “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.” The man began to walk away and, just before he got lost in the crowd, Steve called out: “I’m Steve, by the way.”

The man glanced over his shoulder but didn’t stop walking. “I’m Bucky but you already knew that.”


	2. Drunk and Disorderly

Every day Steve walked from Charing Cross Police Station to Covent Garden Underground and every day he saw Bucky in the square, doing his routine. For the first four days it was the same thing, the same tricks and the same stunts. On the fifth day though, the Saturday, it was different. Bucky revealed a whole new routine which was somehow bigger and better than the one before. Steve didn’t know whether he changed it every week or it just so happened that he changed it now but he couldn’t help but linger at the back of the crowd and watch what Bucky had come up with. He didn’t make the same mistakes a last time though.

For one thing, he stayed at the back of the crowd, hoping that the other people would conceal him from the man’s sight. Not that he thought for one minute that Bucky would be looking at him. Making your body repeatedly defy the laws of physics tended to take up all your attention. The other thing that Steve didn’t do was give him any money at the end of the show. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to because he definitely did. No, it was merely that his embarrassment had gotten the better of him. After last time, once Bucky had packed up his things and disappeared into the crowd, Steve had been haunted by just how _stupid_ he’d been that it had been all he could think about for days. The fact that he should have known better coupled with the knowledge that he could have seriously hurt him meant that Steve was doing everything he could to make sure that he didn’t have to face Bucky again. So, when he decided to pause and watch the new and improved show on the Saturday and again on the Sunday (only because he’d missed the first bit on Saturday) he made sure that he was long gone before there was a chance he might have to talk to the street-performer.

He saw Bucky every day but it wasn’t until two weeks later that he finally spoke to him again.

If London was busy in the week then a Saturday night was something else entirely. Roads became impassable with the number of people spilling out onto them from the clubs and bars which lined the streets, music and shouting and singing floating out through open doors. People stumbled along together, arms flung across shoulders and wrapped around waists, their bodies seeming to prop each other up as they unsteadily made their way to their next destination. When Steve had first moved to London he’d found the whole thing entirely overwhelming. Now, almost three months later, he didn’t find it much better. It was only Sam’s gentle nagging and Natasha’s blatant threats which dragged him out to one bar or another. He rarely caught the name of it; they were always moving onto the next one before he had a chance.

The fact that Steve wasn’t a big drinker was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand he was able to appreciate just how ridiculous drunk people could be. On the other hand though it meant he was never drunk enough not to realise how damn annoying those very same people were. It was a double edged sword.

Natasha was the complete opposite. She downed fancy flavoured vodka shot after fancy flavoured vodka shot growing drunker and drunker by the minute. Rather than becoming sloppy though she seemed to just become more deadly. Her temper _definitely_ got worse. Just ask the last man who touched her arse without so much as a hello first. Steve was sure he was still nursing his nearly broken hand now.

Meanwhile Sam was just a happy medium. Drunk enough to be a little louder and bolder than he usually was but not so drunk as to become one of those people Steve loved to hate so much. He supposed, all things considered, they made a pretty good drinking trio.

“We need to leave.”

A familiar voice by his ear had Steve turning away from watching Sam valiantly trying to politely brush off a woman who was far too interested. Blue eyes settled on Natasha who somehow still looked like she’d only just left the house rather than this being the third bar they’d visited.

“We do?”

“Yes. That guy,” she cocked one thumb over her shoulder, “tried hitting on me and his girlfriend saw and now I’m pretty sure there’s about five different women who would quite happily murder me at any moment.”

As she talked Steve’s gaze drifted to the man in question. Beside him was a group of women, gathered together in a tight huddle, talking frantically and shooting less than polite looks in their direction every couple of seconds.

“Can’t I finish my drink first? I’m sure you could hold them all off until then.”

“I’d rather not ruin my dress. That blonde one looks like a scratcher and you know that this lace will be the first thing to go.”

Considering it, Steve sighed and picked up his drink, a fruity cocktail that Sam had shoved into his hand once he’d returned from a trip to the toilet, and quickly downed the last of it. He wrinkled his nose at the obnoxiously sweet taste. “How does he stomach these?”

“No idea. Let’s go.” Grabbing his hand, Natasha pulled him off his chair and over to Sam where she grabbed his hand too and detoured towards the door without so much as a pause.

“Thank God for that,” Sam said with a brief glance over his shoulder at the woman he’d been rescued from before they stepped out into the cool night air. “She was nice and all but coming on way too strong.”

“If it makes you feel better Nat is currently running away from her problems so at least you did better than her.” Steve grinned only to laugh when the small hand which was in his slipped out and hit him across the chest with enough force to wind a smaller man. “Well you are.”

“I am not _running away_. I am avoiding making a scene.”

“Since when have you ever avoided making a scene?” Sam’s words, while a little slurred, were still coherent.

“Since we got banned from my favourite bar. And that wasn’t even my fault.”

“Nat,” Steve began slowly, using the same voice he always used when he was saying something which was one hundred percent right but was also about to make him incredibly unpopular. “You punched a man in the face. You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested. If I’d been on duty _I_ would have arrested you. Being banned really was you getting off easy.”

While he spoke Nat led them through the crowds, regularly forgetting that they were both significantly bigger than she was which left them struggling to squeeze past groups that she’d slipped by easily.

“You wouldn’t arrest me. You like me too much. Anyway,” she said before Steve could tell her that actually he would very much like to arrest her, just so he could tell people he had, “we’re here.”

Steve looked up at the sign above the door. “Really? You expect me to drink in a place called Dirty Martini?”

“You bet I do. Despite the name it’s actually kind of classy so we’re going to go in, have a few drinks and hope that a group of angry ladies doesn’t force us to relocate again.”

Just after Natasha had begun talking, someone had pushed past Steve as they made their way stumbling down the road. That in itself was nothing new; if Steve paid attention every time someone rather rudely barged by him, he would never have time for doing anything else. This time though he did pay attention. At least, he did after a moment.

When he first caught a glimpse of the man’s face, he didn’t realise that he recognised him. If he hadn’t glanced round just in time to watch the man lean heavily against the wall of a building a couple of metres down the road from where they were stood, he probably never would have. He did though and, as the man turned slightly and slid down the wall until he was on the floor, Steve finally recognised him. Looking around, he didn’t see anyone appear at the man’s side, no friends seeming to be around him.

“Steve? Are you even listening?”

Looking back to Natasha, he gave a distracted wave of his hand. “Yeah, you guys go inside. I’ll meet you in a second, I just saw someone I know. Got to go talk to them.”

“Fine, don’t be long.” Grabbing Sam’s hand, Natasha led him inside, already chatting about the newest drink the place offered.

Steve turned and walked the short distance to where the man was sat on the floor. Strands of dark hair had fallen out of the bun his hair was still in, hanging loose around his face, one slowly rising and falling as it got caught on the deep breaths the man was taking. His head was tilted back, nose pointed up to the sky as if he was trying to seek fresher air.

Coming to a stop by him, Steve looked down at him. “Bucky?” He frowned when the man didn’t so much as open his eyes, let alone respond to the question. “You all right? It’s Steve. Remember? The guy who almost killed you.”

Slowly, very slowly, Bucky’s eyes opened. Blinking, he peered up at him. Even in the poor light of neon signs and street lamps Steve could see how unfocused the other’s eyes were.

A small smile curved to Bucky’s lips. “Oh hey. How you doin’?”

“Good. I’m good. How are you?” Steve’s voice was soft, measured, as though talking to a wild animal he expected to bolt at any moment. Although, if he was being brutally honest, Bucky didn’t look in a state to walk anywhere let alone run.

“M’ _gooood_.”

“Yeah?” He crouched down by his side. “You with your friends or anything?”

Bucky shook his head from side to side, the movements over-exaggerated, and Steve winced when he hit his head on the wall. Bucky didn’t seem to notice. “Nah, s’just me.”

That wasn’t the answer Steve had wanted. He’d hoped that maybe Bucky had just gotten separated from his friends, that they could retrace his steps to the last bar he was in and find them again. That hope vanished as quickly as it had come.

Steve hesitated. He didn’t want to overstep the line but Bucky clearly wasn’t capable of being left alone. Usually Steve would have had no doubts as to whether Bucky was able to look after himself or not; you weren’t able to perform the stunts he was without being fit enough to punch someone and run if necessary. Now though, he was helpless. He couldn’t even stand up. Protective by nature, he couldn’t just leave Bucky on the street like this even if he did barely know the guy. In his line of work he heard enough horror stories about what happened to people rendered helpless by alcohol; he wasn’t prepared to have that on his conscience and it was that which had him saying something which could potentially overstep the line of casual acquaintances who had only spoken once.

“Do you think that maybe you should go home?”

“I don’t…nah, m’good here.”

Steve persevered. “You can’t stay sat on the floor like that. You should go home and sleep it off.”

The seconds ticked by as Bucky stared up at him, so many that Steve began to think that he just wasn’t going to reply. Eventually he did.

“Kay.” Bucky pressed his hands against the floor and managed to rock himself up onto his toes. When he tried to stand up it was only Steve’s quick reflexes which caught him as he stumbled forwards. Blinking at him, he smiled. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Steve looped one arm under Bucky’s and all but lifted him up onto his feet. Even then he didn’t let go, not trusting him not to fall over again, so he wrapped his arm around his shoulder in what he hoped was at least a semi casual manner. “Where’s home then?”

“Just a few stops on the tube.”

Getting Bucky to the tube station was easier said than done and that was before they had to navigate seemingly endless stairs. The drunk man couldn’t take more than a couple of steps before he was violently veering one way or the other, forcing Steve to move with him lest he break free of the grip he had around his shoulders. At one point Bucky gave up on walking entirely, leaning heavily against Steve while his head rolled to one side. Steve had been about to drag him to the side of the road, convinced that Bucky had passed out, but the almost incoherent “Whoops” that Bucky mumbled put that fear to rest. It didn’t stop Steve having to practically carry him down the road though, his arm aching by the time they finally sat down on the tube.

Slumped against him, Bucky’s head alternated between resting on Steve’s shoulder and snapping to the other side abruptly depending on whether the tube was stopping or starting. It looked horribly uncomfortable though there was little Steve could do to stop it. It was enough hassle trying to get Bucky to tell him what stop they needed to get off at and he only managed that about twenty seconds before they arrived at said station.

Then it was time for more stairs.

“This is why I don’t get drunk,” Steve murmured to himself as he hauled Bucky up the stairs eventually managing to get out on the open road. “Whereabouts do you live?” He asked more loudly, hoping he’d get a quicker response time than he had with the station question.

“S’just over there. Number 210.” Bucky pointed with his metal arm across the road and to the right.

Whether or not he was pointing to the row of houses opposite them or the side road which was a little further down, Steve didn’t know. How hard could it be to find out though?

As he dragged Bucky across the street and down the pavement, he couldn’t help but wonder what it was that had prompted the man to get so horrendously drunk on his own. Steve couldn’t imagine it. Then again, he couldn’t imagine getting this drunk with friends let alone with no one to make sure he got home okay. What would have happened to Bucky if he hadn’t found him?

 _Probably found his own way home_ , the optimistic part of him said. The pessimistic part had other ideas. He supposed it didn’t matter really. He had found Bucky and he’d gotten him home safely.

Away from the bright lights of the clubs and bars, it had become significantly harder to read the numbers on the house doors.

202.

204.

206.

Steve followed the numbers down the road and around the corner, the sounds of Bucky’s shoes scuffing along the pavement as he was dragged along the only sound aside from the cars which passed them.

208.

210.

They came to a stop in front of a semi-detached house, one of the few on the street that wasn’t terraced. It was nice; a pebbled front garden boasted several potted plants and a small wooden gate which led, presumably, to the back of the house. All the lights were off inside although that was hardly surprising. After all the inhabitant was currently slumped against a near stranger outside, apparently not having even realised they were there.

“Bucky, c’mon buddy.” Steve tapped his metal arm a couple of times with his hand before catching himself. Surely Bucky couldn’t even feel that? Shifting position, he tried again but this time patted his back. “We’re at your house.”

Bucky opened his eyes at that though when he looked at the house his eyebrows drew into a frown. The expression lasted no more than a second before a lopsided smile curved to his lips.

“Yeah, m’house. Thanks Stevie.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname. “You’re welcome. Do you need help getting inside or anything?”

Shaking his head, Bucky shoved his hand deep into his pocket, feeling around for something. “Nah, s’fine. Use the backdoor anyway.” He pushed himself away from Steve, stumbling forward as he half walked, half shuffled through the small garden and round to the gate. Steve watched as his metal fingers fumbled with the small latch, his right hand still deep in his pocket, before he made a frustrated noise and just stepped over it. His left foot got caught on the way over and for one horrible moment Steve thought he was about to watch him face plant the ground. He didn’t though, managing to wrench it free and disappear into the shadows.

Happy that Bucky was safe, Steve turned away and headed back out of the garden. Reaching into his own pocket, he retrieved his phone, pulling a face when he realised he had five texts from Natasha and Sam and three missed calls. Opening up the newest text, he began to punch out a reply as he walked down the road. He didn’t look back towards the house.

If he had, he would have seen Bucky appear from out of the front garden and stagger down the road in the opposite direction.

 

 


End file.
